Stone Age (11 page)

The Teacher

7:15 P.M.

Joliet, Illinois

The crowds were ginormous
, Thomas thought.  Far bigger and different from any other revival he had ever seen.  They all came to see, hear, and for some, to be healed by the Teacher.  “The press,” he told Thomas, “fanned the flames of the embers he already ignited in the hearts of men.”   Thomas didn’t exactly know what that meant, but it felt true.  And on fire was right, because every night, they did a gathering, the crowds got bigger.  Now, the Teacher, as his daddy would have said, “Was hotter than a whorehouse on dollar night.” 

It started, at least for Thomas, outsid
e Charleston, but then grew as the Teacher and his group of followers traveled the rural highways from West Virginia, through Ohio, then Indiana, and now Illinois, in the Southern rural suburbs of Chicago, always working their way West.  Today, it was Joliet.  With each town, the crowds grew.  Today, hours before the big event, there were over one thousand people.  Many attended on a previous night, but today, many brought family members, who probably told their loved one they were “full of bunk” after hearing their testimony. 

When he first met the Teacher,
Thomas was like many of them, sitting there waiting, hurting on the inside.   He was unemployed after working in the mines for years.  Then, his government checks ran out and his bitch of a wife kicked him out. 
Let her take care of those snot nose shits herself
, he thought to himself. 

While thumbing for a ride to Columbus, where he heard his second cousin’s boss might have a job for him, somebody handed him a flyer.  He couldn’t read so he asked, “What is this bullshit?” The guy told him, all happy, “Come for free and you will be saved.  There’s a map on the back.”  He never made it to Columbus

Thomas had seen lots of preachers in his day, but this one was different.  The man, whom everyone called Teacher and no other name, was amazing.  Thomas went to one gathering - the Teacher didn’t like calling them revivals - and came out like he was drunk, his mind all twisted up.  He had to go again.  The second night, Thomas touched the Teacher and something happened he couldn’t explain.  The Teacher felt him touch his clothes and turned to him, giving him a big smile and staring into his brain, as if he could read his thoughts.  He said, “Thomas, your worries are few.  Lift up your infirmities unto me.”  The Teacher grabbed his hand and said something, and it was as if he was filled with electricity.  Then, he felt peace. His mind was quiet.  Before he looked up, The Teacher was already several people behind him.

On the third
gathering he went to, there was a miracle.  “It was no parlor tricks like those done by most big tent revival healers, or like you would see at the fair,” he would tell others.  Those false preachers always reminded him of the movie his bitch-of-a-wife loved, starring Steve Martin, who played the huckster preacher, using slight-of-hand deceptions to cheat hard-working farmers out of their money.  The Teacher was different.  He performed real miracles.

Thomas thought back to when a man,
known by the whole town to have born blind at birth, approached the stage.  The Teacher walked up to him and asked him what he wanted and the blind man fell to his knees and said, “If you are willing, Teacher, heal me.”

The Teacher said, “Arise, you are cleansed. Now, go tell the world.”

The man stood up, turned to the faces in the crowd, who were silent, anticipating.  The blind man opened his eyes.  Thomas could see him clear as day.  The milky color in his pupils gone, replaced with dark eyes that stared in shock at the crowds, then the ceiling of the tent, and then his hands.  His mouth opened but he spoke no words.

He didn’t need to say nothing
. We all knew what he felt. 

Tears ran down his cheeks.  It was like a high school football game when the home team scores at the last second to win. Everyone went nuts. 

On the fourth night, when the Teacher passed, he turned again and said right at him, “Follow me, Thomas.”  He had been with him since then, doing odd jobs and trying to learn.

After making the blind man see, the press started showing up.  Their headlines asked the question a lot of people had on their minds and lips. “Was this Jesus’ Second Coming?”  Thomas didn’t know any of this, and didn’t care.  He was there because Teacher asked him to follow and he didn’t think he could say no.

Quiet before the Storm

6:30 P.M.

Rocky Point, Mexico

Max’s computer slept like its owner, quietly. 

His phone’s battery was dead and recharging.  Similarly, his body and mind were unconsciously cocooned, recharging in REM sleep.  His rhythmic breathing spoke of a peace he found nowhere else the last couple of days.  While a few others around the world, those who were paying attention to the signs above, were frantically preparing for the end of the world, Max had done his work long before others even realized what was happening.  Max earned his rest.   So now, he slept.

When Max returned from the King’s party last night, he was so exhausted, he couldn’t even bother removing his clothes before flopping on his bed.  Somewhere in the night, he managed to remove his boots, the rest of him lay in a discarded heap, fully clothed and quietly breathing on his back.  He was even too tired to dream.

That day, Max slept through everything.  His exhaustion consumed him.  He slept through the early morning, not even stirring when several seagulls somehow became confused in flight and hit the side of his house, a few so hard, they broke their necks, their bodies coming to a rest upon his deck.

Then in the late morning, he slept through Sally vigorously knocking on his patio door, seeking answers to her questions.

Then, in the early afternoon hours, a pelican ran into his satellite dish, killing itself and his satellite dish instantly.  The pelican
’s carcass slid down a course of solar panels before crashing through a glass table on the patio, and coming to rest in a heap of glass, feathers and blood.  His satellite dish dangled over the side of his bedroom wall, tethered by its thick black coaxial cable.  Perhaps it was the noise, or perhaps he was done sleeping on his back, but Max rolled over onto his stomach and slept some more.

He even slept through the quite of sunset, its eerie light calling to him, unheard. 

Before finally being awakened by bad dreams and the pounding on his door, he had slept a total of seventeen hours.

Miracles

8:30 P.M.

Joliet Illinois

The stadium floodlights kicke
d on, working their soft orange rays into the shadows of dusk, pushing back the inevitable coming darkness.  It was late, but no one cared.  The Joliet High School Hornets football stadium had never seen a crowd this big, including the night they won state.  Throngs of eager people filled the stands, the bleachers, and all grassy areas on the field.  Some were even on top of their cars in the parking lot, and two sat precariously upon one of the end zone’s goal posts.  All were quietly listening to the Teacher. 

He was on a slightly elevated plat
form that made him look that much taller.  He was a manifestation built up by word of mouth, fueled by an overzealous media, and buttressed by his own charismatic presence.  The Teacher was educating the crowd about judgment day.  It was one of his favorite topics, and one he spoke of a lot recently.

“This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come.  And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars.  See that you are not alarmed, for this must take place.  For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there will be famines and earthquakes in various places.  All these are but the beginning of the birth pains.”  He paused for impact.

“Lawlessness will be increase and the love of many will grow cold, but the one who endures to the end will be saved.”

The stadium lights started to
flicker.

  “For then there will be great tribulation, such as has not been from the beginning of the world until now, and never
will be,” his voice rising in strength for emphasis.

They flickered some more, this time followed by a few gasps from some in the crowd.

“Immediately after the tribulation of these days, the world will be plunged into darkness.”

~~~

Only a few miles away, the Dresden Nuclear Power Plant was a buzz of activity.  From the air, the workers running around the plant would have looked like ants evading a large predator.  The predator invading Dresden was silent and unseen, and far more deadly than any attacker imagined by the Nuclear Power Plant Preparedness Plan. 

Induced currents from a moderate sized CME currently working
its way to Earth built up along power lines leading to the station’s main transformers.  To protect itself, when current levels reached 110% above baseline, the power plant’s system disconnected itself from the grid, in essence shutting itself down from power production.  Unfortunately, tonight was also a usually warm summer day in Chicagoland, which was pulling more than its fair share of energy from the grid.  The Joliet Power Station, on the NERC’s watch list for not having proper shielding around its transformers, was already struggling to keep up with normal power demands.  The same CME induced currents, which were playing havoc at Dresden, started to cause cascading circuit overloads at Joliet.  When Dresden shutdown, Joliet’s transformers failed.

~~~

The lights went out at Joliet High School stadium, followed by the school’s lights, followed by the streetlights, followed by the AM/PM Mini Mart a block away.  It was a blackout.

The Teacher paused and now many more murmured, and whispered.  He flicked the
microphone on/off switch a couple of times to verify it was not working, confirming its power appeared to be cut off too.  He turned and found Thomas, already anticipating what Teacher might need, handing him a bullhorn, already turned on. 

He continued, “And there will be terrors and great signs from heaven.”

The murmur grew louder.  A dozen or so fingers were thrust into the air, pointing to the East, then a few more, and then still more, until everyone was looking to the Eastern horizon, which was awash in undulating green clouds.  The pulsating auroras rolled in like storm clouds, but far more sinewy and fragile looking, which didn’t at all diminish from their ominous presence.  A few people stood up, frightened by the sight before them, as the Teacher had just prophesied.  In their fear, they were no longer paying attention, tripping over others who were transfixed by the heavenly miracle they were witnessing.

One of the stadium’s transformers connected to a light pool on the 20-yard line exploded.  A gushing arch of sparks fanned out and rained down on the crowd sitting and standing below.  The panic bubbled up through the multitude, beginning with those being covered by incendiary material, and then spreading out.  A woman’s scream sliced through the commotion, her hair catching fire from the transformer’s sparks.  Terror fueled her voice and legs.  Those around her joined in, now accompanying her shrieking and erratic motion, until it seemed a mass of people were rolling into the field rather than toward the exits.

Another transformer blew. This one was on the opposite end of the field by the 30-yard line.  These sparks ignited a powder keg of terror.  Most of the whole crowd, at once, attempted to flee, many falling over each other, some getting trampled to death.  Only moments ago, the field was in rapture over the Teacher’s words and his promised specter of miracles. Now it was a witness to hell on Earth.

The Teacher stood resolutely on his dais, the bullhorn dangling from the cord around his wrist, and both arms suspended by his sides.  He watched intently as this sea of people ran in all directions simultaneously, their fears pushing aside any logical thinking.  He slowly raised his arms skyward, as if beckoning the heavens.  His face, without emotion, was posed in purposeful determination.  He considered what it must have been like for Moses when he parted the seas.
  Only this prophet was parting a sea a sea of people so as to separate the wheat from the chaff, or the strong from the weak.  He was in command.  He was the prophet of this time.

It was his time.

Preflight

10:50 P.M.

Jackson County, Michigan

John and Steve Parkington arrived at the Jackson County Airport - Reynolds Field at just b
efore 11PM.  Steve ran into airport restaurant to use the facilities, knowing it was going to be a while before the next rest stop, while John went to the Airport Manager’s office to drop off their flight plan.  They met at Hanger 119 and opened the door to reveal John’s favorite toy, a blue and red striped, 1982 Cessna 340A.  Although he didn’t need to, John justified the purchase for business, since he often traveled around the state, especially Detroit, and sometimes across the lake to Chicago.  Really, John just bought the plane for fun.  It was in sorry shape when he first purchased it – or stole it - having sat in a field for a decade, unused.   After a year of overhauling the engine, replacing much of the avionics, reupholstering it with leather, and repainting it with his company’s colors, it was like a new plane.

While John went through his pre-flight checklist, Steve was getting weather reports all the way to Denver on his phone.  Most pilots never flew at this time, even those who were instrument rated, still preferring to fly by the light of day.  John loved flying at night, among the stars, and he was very familiar with this route, having made this very same flight six times now.  Everything looked good and they were ready to go.   With a little tailwind, they should reach Denver by sunrise at 5AM the next morning.

“Jackson tower, this is Cessna Charlie-George-Boy- two-two-six requesting permission to take off.”

“Cessna two-two-six, be advised, Chicago O’Hare reports communications problems.  Traffic is heavy in their neighborhood.  Otherwise, Cessna two-two-six, you are cleared for take-off on runway three-two.  Have a safe trip, John.”

“Thanks, Peter, Cessna two-two-six out.”

John looked at Steve, who was lost in a happy thought, smiling to himself.  

“You ready,” he asked interrupting his thoughts.

“Engage, Number One,” he answered thrusting his hand forward, mimicking his most favored TV series, Star Trek
Next Generation, even though it hadn’t been on since he was really little.

John throttled the engines.  The twin turbo props came alive in an instant, moving the airplane forward at an increasing rate.  In twenty seconds, they reached 105 miles per hour.  John pulled back on the wheel and they were airborne.  The plane steadily accelerating, disregarded the pull of gravity.  Within a few minutes, they flew over their family home and the lake they both so enjoyed.  Ahead of them was an adventure that would test their intellectual and physical limits.  Behind them was the home they knew for most of their lives, and one they would never see again.